Kenny Chesney sings a song called 'Come Over'... It's a fantastic ballad and the video is even better. (We need a 'hot' graemlin. Seriously, the video should almost be x-rated.) Anyway, it got me thinking... and thinking got me thinking some more and well, I did this.
Credit to whoever wrote the song because I was too lazy to look it up.
And none of the characters are mine. I just borrowed them.
Enjoy!
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It’s Friday night and I’m home alone… always alone.
I’ve cooked; I’ve cleaned; I’ve walked the floors.
I’ve stared at the pictures of you. It always comes back to you. When did things go bad with us?
Why did they go bad? We were so good together. We are so good together. Still.
I click the TV on. Click it off again. I stare out the window. I listen to the sounds of the city. It’s quiet for once, which is okay with me. I don’t really feel very super.
I drop heavily on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling fan blades as they spin around. It’s deathly quiet and the silence is beginning to unnerve me. I count the cracks on the wall aloud, making mental notes to fix them. I sing a song; I whistle; I recite the Pledge of Allegiance- anything to make a sound.
I told you I wouldn’t call. I told you I wouldn’t care.
You told me you wouldn’t care. How we do this? Remain friends after being lovers?
I can’t stand it a second longer. The phone is at my ear. You answer on the third ring.
“Come over,” I say without hesitation.
“That bad?” you ask me.
“Worse. Come over. I’m about to climb the walls… and it’s getting me nowhere. Come over.”
You sigh… and I can hear the rapid tap of your heart.
“I can’t take this bed getting any colder,” I tell you. “Come over. Please… come over.”
“It won’t change things. It’s done.”
“It’s easier to lie to me than to yourself,” I point out. We do this every time. You insist there can’t be an us.
“We’re bad for each other,” you speak up.
“But we’re no good for anyone else… Come over.”
“I miss you,” she whispers after a pause.
“We don’t have to miss each other. Come over.”
“This won’t fix things,” you counter.
“We don’t have to fix each other. Come over.”
“And tomorrow?”
“We don’t have to say forever. Come over. You don’t have to stay forever. Come over.” I wait. “Come over,” I breathe. “Come over. Come over. Come over,” I repeat.
You know I want you; I tell you constantly. You know you could stay forever. You know I love you more than life itself.
You know I’ll be right back to this place as soon as you’re gone again.
“Come over,” I say one last time.
“I want to dance,” you say.
“I’ll cut the lights and turn on the stereo.”
“Give me twenty.”
I sigh as I hang up the phone. I wouldn’t have made it through the night without you.
I never do.
And you know that.
Is that why you come back again and again?
Or do you need me, too?
When you turn the knob on the door, your favorite song is playing. I’ve changed into the black jeans you love so much. I didn’t bother with a shirt or shoes. We both know where this is going.
You drop your coat on the landing and step down the stairs and into my arms, sighing against my shoulder as I pull you close.
We sway to the music without a word. Dancing leads to kissing. Kissing leads to exploration. I carry you to my bed.
You’ll leave tomorrow.
And the next time the night closes in on me, you’ll come over.
